They're All Right
by shattered petal
Summary: Pink dresses, tuxedos, and food, with a drop of alcohol and lemonade. Roy and Olivier will always be in constant competition with each other, even when it comes to appearances. -Premanga; RoyLiv broship


**Title**: They're All Right  
**Genres**: Humour/Friendship  
**Rating**: K+

* * *

'Olivier, if you don't unlock that door, then your Father will have a few words to say. It's going to be a very special night, and you must be on your best behaviour. Father won't be very happy if he finds out his daughter isn't acting like she should. Now, please open the door and let's try on this dress. You'll look lovely in it.'

Currently, eight-year-old Olivier Armstrong was sitting at the far end of the room, glaring at the door, which was not only locked, but also barricaded by a chair. No, she was _not_ unlocking the door. Olivier wouldn't be seen _dead _wearing a dress, let alone a _pink_ dress. How embarrassing. She hated pink. She hated _dresses_. She hated anything _girly_.

Unfortunately being the oldest daughter of the Manor, Olivier was subjected as the _girl_, the _daughter_, who was sweet and darling. The party tonight was hosted by her father, in celebration of his latest child with Sophia Armstrong. Amue was a big baby girl, but very healthy. A delight to the family.

The poor maid was close to giving in. Knocking on the door a couple of times, she tried to encourage Olivier to try on the dress. When she said her father might punish her, she wasn't lying, and the maid didn't enjoy Olivier being punished. If only Olivier would listen. Silly girl. It was her own fault.

'Is she still in there?' Sophia's voice could be heard from behind. The maid jumped and swivelled around on her heel, feeling quite humiliated the lady of the house spotted her in this state.

'I do apologise, Mrs Armstrong. Olivier refuses to try on this lovely dress. I've tried everything I can.'

Sophia sighed. There was nothing new here. She should have expected her daughter to act unreasonably. Stepping over to the door, she knocked thrice, and spoke, voice hardened: 'Olivier, my dear, this is no time for fun and games. Father is expecting you downstairs in ten minutes and if you're not, then he _won't_ be happy.'

Same old lecture. Olivier pouted.

'I'm giving you a chance to avoid his wrath, dear. Neither of us like it when that man is angry, do we? Look, just wear this dress tonight. After that, you won't have to wear it ever again. Unless an important occasion occurs. For your _sister_, Olivier. This is all for her. So stop acting selfishly and show yourself to our guests.'

Olivier hated it when her mother tried to guilt her. Because this always worked. Slumping her shoulders, the girl removed the chair and unlocked the door, before stepping out of the room. Looking up, she watched her Mother shake her head in disappointment.

'And you'll look so _pretty_ in that dress too.'

The girl made a face.

'Wipe that scowl away, Olivier. A true Armstrong is smiling and joyful.'

_You're one to talk_.

Out of impatience and concern Olivier wouldn't be presented to her father in time, the maid dragged Olivier off into her bedroom. Then she helped the young girl into her dress. Olivier struggled to not scream bloody murder. She had to be good tonight, she had to be Father's good girl.

The dress was a bright pink, not poofy, God forbid, but flowy at the hems. Almost like––

'You look like a little flower.'

Urgh. Olivier would rather sit through one of her Father's lectures on the immoralities of the world, than suffer this torture. It only got worse when the maid placed a pink headband into her blonde hair. Out of embarrassment, Olivier flushed a deep shade of red, and reluctantly followed the maid out of the room.

Together they walked down the long, spiral staircase and met Father Armstrong in the living area. It was big enough to fit fifty men, and there certainly would be at least that amount by the end of the evening. Philip was faced away from the door, but when he heard the maid approach, he turned around and beamed brightly when spotting Olivier.

'Lovely!' The man boomed, sparkling in glee. 'You'll even melt the coldest of hearts and, believe me, very cold hearts will be appearing tonight.' He then faced the maid, his tone just as cheery. 'Make sure Olivier is in bed by eight o' clock. I can't have her around when things start to get a little more exciting.'

She might only be eight, but Olivier was pretty sure that _nothing_ got exciting in this house.

Guests began to show up around twenty minutes later. Olivier was told to stand by her Mother at the doorway, welcoming everyone and inviting them to specific rooms where certain activities were happening. Olivier never spoke. All she had to do was stand there, almost like an ornament, some sort of prize her parents had won.

With a sigh, she looked longingly at the room her Father resided. Only a son would stand beside him, with a bow tie, blazer, combed hair. Philip had acknowledged his daughter wearing the pretty dress, but that was about as much attention as he would give her for the rest of the year. Amue's birth was a joy... but she wasn't a _boy_.

Only _girls_ stand by _girls_ and wear _pretty dresses_.

'Oh, hello, Ms Mustang and Master Mustang!'

At once Olivier froze. The blood from her face drained away.

'Thank you so much for inviting us, and congratulations on your little girl. Another one!'

'I know, but the more the merrier. Hello, Master Mustang. My, you _do_ look smart in that suit. Who bought that for you?'

'Ehh... My Ma did, Mrs Armstrong.'

Olivier whipped her head around and watched the black-haired boy like a hawk. There he was, combed hair, pretty face, dashing suit. Well, sort of. To her he just looked like a fool. Both Mustangs took off their coats and handed them to the maid. That was when Ms Mustang noticed Olivier standing there.

Christmas was an interesting character. Sometimes Olivier thought she was only playing the part whenever she came to the Manor. For some reason, the barmaid and her Mother were old friends.

'I love your dress, Olivier.'

Olivier struggled to smile. 'Thank you. So do I.'

She noticed Master Mustang narrow his brows.

'Yes, Olivier has been wanting to wear this dress for ages. She was ecstatic to finally wear it.'

Wow. Olivier knew her Mother could be desperate to please, but _this_? Meeting her Mother's gaze, Olivier realised she had to make some gesture of agreement. 'Yes,' she said, smiling again. 'I do like the dress a lot.'

Again, she had to ignore the boy's puzzled expression.

Roy Mustang was probably the biggest idiot in the whole of Amestris, and he was much too easy to tease. Whenever Christmas and Sophia met for tea or something similar, Roy and Olivier would usually be stuck with one another. Naïve Roy _loved_ to play games, and these games were not the most thrilling.

It was just as well he had a friend like her. As soon as wooden swords were in play, _then_ things got interesting. So interesting that on a couple of occasions Roy had to go home with a broken nose, or Olivier was pulled away from the fight with a bloody lip. There used to be tears (on Roy's part), but now it seemed the boy had gone passed that stage. There would never be a day where they wouldn't duel over something.

Still, despite his "loser" traits and rather dumb intelligence, she kind of liked being around him. He occasionally let out the odd funny remark, or even agreed to mock a passer-byer. Things got _very interesting_ when the two attempted to steal from the nearby sweet shop.

So, of course, knowing her since the age of three, Roy was almost horrified to witness Olivier "loving" a dress.

'Roy-Boy, stop pulling that face to Olivier. How rude.'

Olivier smiled in satisfaction.

'Uhh, you look nice.'

'I wish I could say the same to you, Mister.'

'Olivier! Be kind to the gentleman now. He's just offered you a compliment.'

The glee in Roy's eyes made her turn livid inside. 'Thank you,' she said, smiling sweetly, 'I'm so happy you like my dress. You look...' What did Roy look like? So many words spun in her head. So many _insults_. '... Wonderful.' The actual agony when it came to being _kind_ to this lunatic was unbelievable.

Roy grinned. 'I know,' he whispered.

Olivier sneered.

'Enjoy yourselves,' Sophia said, apparently not hearing Roy's comment. 'There are refreshment being served in the living room, where you will also see Philip.'

'Thank you,' Christmas replied, and escorted Roy away. Olivier never took her eyes off him until he had vanished from sight.

Oh. She certainly wouldn't be seeing the last of him this evening.

* * *

There were many nightmares Olivier had endured during her childhood. This was one of them. For the past eight seconds, she hadn't moved from the doorway, in absolute awe to discover how many women were making a fuss over Roy. Mouth agape, eyes wide, all she could do was stare. What on _earth_ was so fascinating about him?

The only thing different about Roy than any other day was that he was wearing a tuxedo. Sure, the tuxedo looked nice and everything, but not _that_ nice. Anyway, Roy could never look _that_ nice in the first place. He was a skinny, useless prat, and a right momma's boy. Olivier clenched a fist. It was amazing the room hadn't exploded by her fury yet.

Roy then spotted her, and smirked, enjoying the compliments more and more, _just_ to rub it in. Wiping back a few strands of hair, he pulled at his tie, and responded to one of the lady's comments: 'This? Oh, I just threw it on.'

Olivier was certain that was what a _woman_ would say, but she gathered there wasn't much difference. Huffing, she proceeded into the corner of the room and sat down, folding her arms. This was awful. She wanted to leave. She wanted to run up the staircase and into her bedroom where no one would disturb her.

A couple of minutes later, she heard the clinking of glass against metal. The entire lounge fell silent, and all the guests turned to Philip. Placing the teaspoon down, he addressed his audience.

'Thank you all so much for coming tonight. It is my pleasure to announce the birth of my second daughter, Amue.' The room clapped, and when all fell silent again, Philip continued, smiling: 'Right now, she is fast asleep, but we have taken photographs of her, so feel free to inspect them before you leave. This is a joyous occasion for all of us. As you know, the art of celebration has been passed down the Armstrong line for generations, and, boy, do we put on a show.'

_Did he really just say that_? Most of the guests laughed and then clapped again, returning back to mingling. Olivier noticed her Father give her a look, and she instantly stood to her feet. Not that that made much difference. No one seemed to be aware of her presence.

Except––

'You _do_ look darling in that dress, Olive.'

'Go _away_, Mustang.'

Roy tutted, and sipped at his lemonade. 'Ah, this be tasteful.'

'Stop trying to act posh, and that's not even alcohol.'

The boy eyed his glass of fizz, then shrugged. 'It does taste nice, though. So what are you doing in a dress? And why are you saying you like it? I didn't know you enjoyed dresses, Olive. I would have bought you one myself.'

'What, with your Monopoly money?'

'Still. A fine gentleman buys his lady a dress.'

Olivier wanted more than anything for a hole to form below her feet and swallow her. 'I'm not your lady! Leave me alone!'

Roy sniggered and sipped at his lemonade again. 'Do you want some?'

'Shove it up your ass, Mustang.'

'My my. Such language–– _Hey_!' Roy exclaimed when Olivier pushed the lemonade into his face. Soaked to his soldiers, Roy threw her a glare. 'What was that for?' Now Olivier could laugh. How much she loved to humiliate Roy.

'That shut you up.'

Roy rolled his eyes. 'Ma won't be pleased if she finds out _you_ soaked my tuxedo. This cost more than one-hundred pounds. It was expensive!'

'Yeah right, as if she would believe _you_,' Olivier smirked, prodding Roy in the belly. 'I'm the sweet, innocent Armstrong daughter. I wouldn't hurt a fly.'

'Pfft,' Roy sneered. 'Oh yeah? Well, guess what? I told Ma all about your schemes in the past. The way you almost attempted to blow up the kitchen in my house––'

'You don't have a kitchen, Mustang.'

'Fine. _Toilet_. It wasn't funny! I almost _died_.'

'Whatever, _Roy-Boy_. You're such a drama Queen.'

'I'm not a drama Queen! You don't know how brave I can be, Olive. I can be braver than a lion.'

Olivier struggled to not burst out laughing. 'I'm sure.'

'No, look: I'll even grab some alcohol from the alcohol tray.'

'You're a wuss. You wouldn't dare.'

'I would.'

'Then do it.'

'Fine, I will.'

'Fine, then do it.'

'Fine, I'm doing it.'

Watching the boy walk over towards one of the servants with a tray of wine, Olivier waited patiently, smiling all the while. Roy could be so desperate to impress, and she doubted he would be able to do this. _No one_ could trick a servant. She could, but no one else. However, she was in for a surprise.

Thankfully Roy was quite short for his age, and managed to untie the servant's shoelaces while he wasn't looking. Roy quickly hid himself and it wasn't long until the servant realised the issue which was made. Placing the tray of alcohol down temporarily, he started to tie his shoelaces. Grinning ear-to-ear, Roy grabbed a glass of wine, and hurried over to Olivier.

'You see? I am braver than you.'

'Give me that!' Olivier snatched the glass off him and took the first sip. She instantly flinched. 'That's gross.'

Roy came next. The alcohol burned his throat and he choked, 'Oh––' Spluttering everywhere, Roy almost fell to his knees in desperation. 'Aw man...' He coughed loudly, wheezing, 'That's bad. Why do adults like this?'

'Olivier...?'

Both children stopped what they were doing and turned to the voice. Philip was watching them both, eyebrow raised, however his attention was mainly focussed on his daughter. Olivier swallowed. She knew what was coming next.

Ignoring Roy, Philip grabbed Olivier by the wrist and took her to a secluded corner. Roy watched from afar, and could tell Olivier was in trouble. Fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve, he noticed how Philip wasn't smiling anymore, how his face seemed to have changed colour. He was angry. Roy had never witnessed Philip angry before, and it was scary.

Soon Olivier's Father let her go. Roy was expecting her to approach him again, but was upset to discover she exited the room. Maybe Philip had told her to be with her Mother, or go to her room. That was what Christmas always told Roy whenever he was naughty.

Deciding it would be best to not ponder over the matter, Roy averted his attention to the other children in the room.

* * *

Maybe Olivier _had_ been sent away because Roy didn't see her for the next four hours. By this time, quite a few guests had left. The rest had waited for probably the best period of the party. Guests were given a choice: play games in one room, converse in another, or attend a ball being held in the large hall.

Roy was literally dragged by the scruff of his collar towards the ball. Christmas was a lover for dancing, and she always managed to get some weird perverts shaking their hips alongside her. Roy was probably just a protective little boy, but he certainly didn't appreciate the flirtatious comments thrown at his Mother.

Plopping himself down onto a chair in the far corner of the room, he watched the couples waltz and twirl. Roy made a face as if he were about to vomit, but behaved at once when Christmas gave him a warning look. Roy sighed and sunk into the chair, already bored, and even quite exhausted. It had been a long day.

Yet his mood did brighten when he spotted free food at the opposite end of the room. Roy wasted no time to head over there and help himself to some sausage rolls, crisps and sandwiches before engorging himself. Ah food, his one true friend. It was amazing how such a tiny boy could eat so much, and yet be so skinny.

'If you eat more than that, you'll get fat. Then I can make fun of you more.'

Roy stopped mid-chew and looked over at Olivier. She was sitting nearby, on the floor, arms folded, just glaring at everyone and the world. Roy smiled.

'Shtill wearin' dat dresh?'

'Ew!' Olivier scowled, dodging the spray of crumbs escaping Mustang's mouth. 'Don't talk with your mouth full, idiot.'

Roy swallowed and placed the remains of his food onto the table. Afterwards, he cleared his throat, brushed a hand through his combed hair, straightened his tie and then offered a small hand for Olivier to take.

'Will you dance with me?'

'No!' Olivier exclaimed, backing away from him as if he were some sort of disease.

'Oh...' Roy's hand fell to his side. 'You know, that's pretty harsh, even from you. I was only being nice.'

'Face it, Mustang, you'll never be a gentleman to me. I don't _want_ a gentleman anyway.'

'As a friend then? Come on. You're always bragging about how good you can dance.'

'No I'm not.'

'Fine, _I_ brag, but we might as well. I can dance better than any of those grown-ups.'

'Sure, go dance by yourself,' Olivier muttered, waving him off.

Roy frowned. 'No, I'll look like a freak. I want _you_ to dance with me.'

'I really don't want to dance with you.'

'Well, you're gonna have to, Olive, 'cos I said so.'

'You're not the boss of me.'

Heaving a heavy sigh, Roy surrendered. 'Fine. Be that way. Loser.'

Olivier said nothing while she allowed the slightly younger boy to leave. She had to admit, she didn't feel that same satisfaction she usually would when winning a battle between them. Now, all she felt was this weird _guilt_. Olivier wished she wouldn't be so sympathetic. Roy had probably plucked up a lot of courage to ask her that.

To be honest, out of everyone in this Manor, she _might_ rather dance with him than anyone else. _Might_. Looking over, she spotted Roy at the opposite end of the room again, sitting alone, glum and upset.

_For crying out loud!_

Groaning, Olivier stood to her feet and proceeded towards him, pouting. '_Fine_, let's dance then, _God_.'

'You called me "God". Oh, wow. I didn't know you thought of me that way.'

'_Mustang_.'

Impatient and frustrated, Olivier outstretched her hand for him to take. Roy realised this was improper. He should be offering _his_ hand. Ah, what the heck. He had got this far, and he had better not spoil it. Taking Olivier's hand, Roy confidently escorted her over to the dance floor, smiling wide. She made a mental note to kick him in the crotch later.

Not to her surprise, Roy wasn't that good of a dancer. He hadn't been taught the basic waltz, nor did he know that he should place a hand at her waist, not both hands at her shoulders. With reluctance, Olivier guided his hands to the correct place, ignoring the blush crawling across his cheeks. This was ridiculous and humiliating, but thankfully no one was that interested in what they were doing.

Mouth shaped like an "o", Roy watched Olivier's feet closely, which way she was going, how she moved them. Really, he should be guiding _her_, but the first day they met, Olivier had always been in charge. Olivier rolled her eyes when he struggled to think what they did next. Raising her arm, she had Roy twirl, then face her again.

'Oi... that's... I don't do that,' Roy said, through jarred teeth.

Olivier sniggered. 'You looked very sweet doing it, though.'

'That's not funny.' Then it was Roy's turn to laugh. 'Are those _sparkles_?'

At once Olivier let him go and cringed. _I'm sparkling? No, no, no_. 'Shut up.' True enough, a couple of sparkles were bouncing off her blonde hair. A typical Armstrong trait, whenever an Armstrong was happy or full of pride.

'I, being a fine gentleman, must have pleased you in some way.'

'Shut your face, Mustang. Nothing you could ever do would please me. The sight of you is sickening enough.'

'Nice try, sparkles. I know better.'

'I can't help it!'

'I can't help my dashing appearance either.'

Olivier slowly closed her eyes. How did they become friends again? Brushing past the idiot, she resorted back to her spot on the floor. To her dismay, Roy soon came following, almost skipping with joy. 'What do you want now? Leave me be.'

'I've got no one else to be with, and you don't either. So.' Roy sat down next to her and sighed. 'We can always make fun of the grown-ups. Some of these hooligans can't dance to save their lives.'

Olivier raised her gaze, watching a rather awkward man attempt to dance with his partner. He kept tripping over his shoelaces, and stepping on her feet. Olivier snorted. 'You aren't any better, Mustang. Hey, at least they know who should do the twirling.'

'Let it go, Olive.' Roy snickered. 'Look at those two over there,' he pointed towards an elderly couple, who were waltzing very slowly, barely waltzing at all even. 'As slow as slugs.'

'Mustang, just because they're not as young as we are, doesn't mean you can make fun of them.'

'How about them? Blimey, that man is _posh_.' Olivier followed Roy's line of gaze, and spotted a very well-dressed man, with the most fantastically groomed moustache she had ever seen. Olivier shivered evidently. 'Is that your sort of man, Olive?'

'Go away.'

Roy cackled to himself, then placed two hands on his tummy when it started growling. 'I'm starving.'

'You just ate!'

'So? I'm still hungry. You know anywhere we can find loads of food?'

* * *

When the clock struck three in the morning, it was time for the remaining guests to leave. After a last congratulations to the Armstrong couple, each grabbed their coats and made for the door, some even leaving behind presents for the newborn baby. When Christmas came to find her coat, she noticed how Roy wasn't responding to her calls.

Approaching Sophia who had just said good bye to her second to last guest, Christmas spoke. 'Have you seen Roy? He's vanished and doesn't seem to hear me. I imagine in a Manor as big as yours it would be hard to.'

'Oh, what a shame. I doubt he's gone too far. Say, I haven't spotted Olivier for quite a while either. Philip, dear, do you know where Roy and Olivier are?'

The man himself appeared from around the corner, still holding a glass of wine in his hand. 'No, I haven't. Are they upstairs playing again? I hope they haven't been using those wooden swords. I did confiscate them, but somehow Olivier always manages to discover their hiding place.'

Sophia and Christmas began to search each room, calling both of their child's names. They searched the ground, first and second landing, but didn't discover any of them. Mrs Armstrong exhaled, now a little concerned. 'They wouldn't have run off, surely. At this time of night, Olivier would know better.'

'Roy wouldn't either.'

Both women pondered over their child's whereabouts, searching the rooms again. Sophia was relieved to hear her husband call: 'I've found them!'

Christmas and Sophia hurried down the staircase, following Philip's voice which led them into the kitchen. The large room was dark, except for a little lamp in the corner. Sophia could smell chicken and gravy, alongside other appealing scents. Dropping her gaze from the lamp, she saw two children fast asleep.

Roy was hunched up against the wall, dribble falling from his mouth, Olivier huddled next to him, asleep. The two were almost embracing, Roy's hand protectively over the chicken he had been eating. Christmas chuckled, and both mothers shared a smile.

'They're all right, those two. They're all right.'


End file.
